I Miss The Keys

I’ve been caught in a technical twister that has captured my creativity. Who knows the last time I saw it. It may have been when I wrote my last piece, Calamity. That’s the last time I remember connecting with white space in ways that only an innate writer can do.

Without my creativity, I’m powerless. I might as well be stripped of my freedom; without expression I am like a rusty robot. I don’t function properly. My thoughts run into one another like raging bulls.

I’m uncertain when I’ll regain my sense of creativity but I hope it’s soon. Now I know what it feels like to be handicapped. I don’t like the feeling.

I want to yell at the keyboard to create something wonderful for me to read. But the cursor sits on the screen, blinking nonstop. The stroke of the keys is unfamiliar, turning a blind eye to my plea.

Oh white space and keyboard help me create something that the entire world would be amazed to read. Understand that my love for you has been overshadowed by my inability to show affection during this time. I’ve been stripped of my creative abilities by corporate and relationships. I see a break in their captive routine and I hope to break free soon.

Keyboard, I’d do anything to feel your endless stroke against my finger tips, and witness the birth of new life. That’s right. My thoughts + Your strokes = New Life.